Where: The beach
When: Saturday and Sunday
Conditions: Wet and slightly windy on Saturday; windier but sunny on Sunday
Flies used: Clousers, chum baby
Species pursued: Resident coho, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Lazy Eye," Silversun Pickups

I'm still in search of a significant chum fry population as well as the reckless pods of fish they attract.

For a number of reasons but primarily because I only have two days a week to poke around for them, I've been largely unsuccessful.

Fortunately, things haven't gotten so bad that they've resulted in a skunking.

On the contrary...

The good news is that there are small groups of chum babies running around and that fish are keying in on them and, of course, flies that imitate them.

Just ask her!

Shackled to this two-day limitation as I am, I can't be too squeamish about conditions and so I met Jamie at Doc's on Saturday in the pouring rain.

"Just throw your stuff in the back."

We were going to put our time in today.

From spot to spot, we wet our lines until finally hitting a productive location.

Knowing a chum stream flowed nearby, fly selection was easy.

Casting down current, almost parallel with the beach, I felt a grab and set.

The resident rushed me, building slack. I tried to recover but could only hold on for a few more seconds.

"Oh well, at least I know they're here."

Not long after, I had another hookup and called down to Jamie. Before he could look over, I saw his rod tip lift and suddenly, we had a double.

For a little over an hour, we rode the tide out, picking out fish here and there.

Mike even caught a few on my new switch rod! Thanks for adding more good juju to my stuff, Mike!

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As if to reward my efforts for braving the inclement weather from the day before, the following morning produced light wind and sunny skies.

Had the March Lion transformed into a lamb overnight, or was this one of those cruel ruses the fish gods enjoy tormenting me with?

The latter, I supposed.

A good guess, I thought, as I stood two hours later in a stiff wind, unusually frigid air biting into my face.

"Ready to relocate?" I asked Mike.

He nodded and we agreed to meet up at another spot.

But the cold Lion continued to roar.

Pulling up to the water, I saw the chop and could almost feel the breeze pressing on the windshield.

Great.

Reluctantly, I stepped out of the car to scope things out a little more thoroughly.

"I've been waiting a long time to run into you."

As I turned, I was greeted by the angler I had parked next to.

"I've been reading your articles and have really enjoyed them."

Brian introduced himself and we chatted about this particular spot's output of late and the windy challenge that lay before us.

Nonetheless, he made his way down to the shore, ignoring the incoming breeze.

His determination renewed my own.

Minutes later, Mike and I waged the same battle, quickly working down the beach, hoping to find something.

No such luck.

Rather than give in, we made the decision to follow Brian's lead and not let the wind put us down.

And that was the right decision!

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The following morning I stared into the spritey vacuum of my monitor, poring over numbers on one of the many spreadsheets I encounter all too often throughout my day. Forcing myself to break away, I decided to check my e-mail.

In lieu of the spreadsheet, a nice cutthroat stretched out on my desktop and right above it, a few lines of text.

One in particular stood out:

"Fishing was excellent."

If only I had one more day...